Going To Mars
by Laeta
Summary: [HoratioCalleigh] Death of somewhat minor character. They watched the afternoon playback in slowmotion, fast forwarded, still framed, printed images, and rewind action.


Disclaimer: _CSI: Miami_ does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For b8kworm and Mr. Hathaway. For Marianne, who demanded so eloquently ;D Sorry, I couldn't get the Hummer into this, but hopefully, this is enough. Kudos to you for getting those tiny allusions ;D. Seriously, I could not resist throwing them in! Also, thanks, Marianne, for the beta.

Summary: They watched the afternoon playback in slow-motion, fast forwarded, still framed, printed images, and rewind action. Yet, nothing would resurrect their fallen comrade except perhaps the pedestal of justice.

Archives: Evidence of Things Unseen, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Horatio/Calleigh

Note of Caution: Death of a character I consider minor.

***** ***** ***** 

Title: Going To Mars

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

  


From beginning to end, everybody's magazine clips were emptied in under five minutes. One dead, one injured, and a camera that imprinted the entire shoot-out for all posterity.

They watched the afternoon playback in slow-motion, fast forwarded, still framed, printed images, and rewind action. Yet, nothing would resurrect their fallen comrade except perhaps the pedestal of justice.

  


Calleigh received the usual task of tracking the pathways of bullets. Her goal was to find that stray shot that took Yelina Salas's life. There was Horatio's gun to consider, as well as Hagen's, the suspect's and oddly enough, Yelina's own weapon. Ricochet was always a possibility; one that was difficult to predict accurately.

Another complication to the situation was that all the officers carried the same gun: MDPD issue nine millimeter hand gun. Calleigh was fairly confident that nobody commissioned unique bullets for their weapons. However, bullets always travel in a nearly straight line, given their high velocities, and she knew each officer's location during the shoot-out. Of course, one could not forget that each gun produced its own unique striates. Determining which bullets belong to which gun would be completed fairly easily if not tedious.

  


Horatio, meantime, wrapped himself in the preparations for his sister-in-law's funeral. Details he hated, details he knew too intimately well. Starting with his mother and punctuated with his brother, his years meandered its way to the point where the ritual of celebrating a life became routine.

He started with the obituary, his words forever to be recorded by the records in city hall and Miami's newspapers. Writing those Yelina left behind in her mortality, Horatio hated the feeling in his heart as he read his nephew's name. He could not escape the irony of the situation. They say the sins of the father fall unto his son, yet it appeared Horatio's life was repeating in his nephew's; he never pitied himself more.

  


Hagen received a temporary sidearm as he watched over the injured suspect in the hospital. With uniformed officers stationed outside the room, at the unit's exits, and in surveillance, there was no possible way for the suspect to escape. Nobody was taking any more chances; he already proved an aura of unpredictable stupidity for returning to the crime scene and opening fire on armed officers.

Everybody agreed, in their initial statements, that one of Hagen's shots injured the suspect. Going through and through soft, yielding flesh, that particular bullet was nowhere to be found at the scene. The possibility was very slim, but until they knew the cause his colleague's death, protocol and procedure reined. He knew that was the sole reason Calleigh sat in a darkened room, plotting bullet trajectories and he remained in utter boredom with a drugged into passivity suspect.

***** 

Surprising himself even amongst personal grief, Horatio retained the ability to keep tabs on Calleigh; while on the phone with various individuals, he called a nearby food delivery locale. He made sure they would bring her dinner sometime in the early evening hours. Although, she had discovered quickly that he was behind all the food offerings, he could not bring himself to stop the little jolts of pleasure he received whenever she flashed a certain smile of appreciation; so, he continued. In a way, the arrangement was a perfect reflection of their relationship - the use of a middle man, a buffer, for their emotions.

He managed to catch a sight of Calleigh when she eventually surfaced for air; hunger drove her out of her lab for nourishment. A breath of revitalizing energy ran from her to him in a rush of tangible waves. He felt guilt for leaving her to the case while he cloistered himself within his office for obvious personal reasons. He knew he should have left the funeral preparation for off-the-clock hours but could not bring himself to concentrate on their other pending cases. The back of his mind told him that Speed and Eric could more than handle the temporary overload.

Regardless, he watched her carry the foam serving container as she trekked her way to his office. Through the glass of his walls, he thought she looked particularly untouchable. It was as though the glass became yet another buffer between him and her, which it probably was if one considered whenever it acted like a symbol of his rank over hers.

Yet, when she breezed through the open doorway sending more shocks of energy in his direction, he wondered why he always thought their buffers would keep them apart. Somehow, she managed to continually toss them away, in a motion reminiscent of flicking a harmless fly.

Wordlessly, she settled into a chair before his desk, practically inhaling the pasta. She offered the accompanying buttered bread to him and arched an eyebrow when he made no move to accept it. The glare lifted a heavy heart; he gave a smile to Calleigh while he rose and joined her on the other side of the desk, intent on sharing the meal. Taking the bread, he broke it in half, chewing slowly as he contemplated their future under the pressure of the afternoon's events. When she finally handed him the container of pasta, he slowly forked it wanting to extend the quiet moment of intimacy. She stole the other piece of bread and the water bottle off his desk. This time, when she offered him a part of her dinner, he accepted. Draining the water, he acknowledged it was time to refocus.

"So -"

"I'm almost finished with my analysis."

"But?"

She shot him a hooded expression. "I think you should come down and see for yourself, Horatio."

He surprised her when he shook his head. "No, I don't think I should be involved."

"Why not?" Clearly, there was no doubt on his ability to separate his personal feelings. "It's been personal before; you've managed to deal. What's changed now?"

The look in his eyes was all it took to convey his feelings to Calleigh; she knew him that well. With a nod, she left to finish her assignment. She will report her findings directly to their superiors.

Alone in his office, with the sun changing its cast from clear yellow to musky orange, he considered the notes on Yelina's funeral. Picking up the phone again to dial another number, he muttered, "Because it's family."

***** 

Three days later, Hagen strode through the labyrinth of labs searching for Calleigh. He was to report to his own superiors but decided to pay a side trip to Calleigh since he was finally off watchdog duty. He found her in the layout room with Horatio as they quietly discussed whatever they were working on. Taking note on the rapport between them, he struck down the itchy feeling that there was more to her relationship with Horatio than he knew. Surely, Calleigh would tell him, would she not? Especially if she was involved with somebody, even Horatio. In fact, all he had been getting were vibes of a wary woman; he was enjoying the chase of securing Calleigh's affections.

Knocking on the glass door, he interrupted the conversation expecting Calleigh to walk out to talk to him. Instead, Horatio strode through the doors and Hagen felt himself tense. In prehistoric times, he would have no chance against an alpha male like Horatio; the fear was instinctive and the need to survive overwhelming. So Hagen did what years of conditioning dictated, he gave ground. Horatio passed without incident.

Finally, with Horatio gone, he breathed in relief and moved to join Calleigh in the room. Unusual to the norm, there was no smile to greet him nor was there the wary appreciation he had come to expect in her expression. Rather, she looked on with a slightly sour countenance and hesitated into the conversation.

"Hey, Calleigh."

"John."

"So, I'm finally off babysitting that perp who killed Yelina."

"Really?"

He wondered why her voiced sounded oddly dulled.

"Yeah. You want to go grab some dinner tonight?"

"I heard, through the grapevine, that you have an important meeting with your superiors today."

"You're very well informed. I do. Was on my way there but stopped here to ask -"

"Me to dinner. John, maybe you should go to that meeting first."

Instinct kicked in and he connected the meeting's subject with Calleigh: she knew. Irritation drummed through his veins before his ego jumped in. Maybe she knew because she wanted news about him.

He felt his male pride puff in response.

"Sure, thing. But keep your evening free, Calleigh. I'll pick you up at seven."

She never heard him; Horatio was back.

Two seconds and Horatio caught the undercurrents running through her. Two seconds more and he knew the cause. Yet it took two minutes before she confessed. Then she needed two hours before she willingly gave herself into his arms.

  


Suspended. He was suspended. Without pay. For two weeks. And she knew for two days.

He, Horatio, and Yelina were at that crime scene where the suspect returned and opened fire on them. All three returned and the rain of bullets fell around them. They were in a triangle formation; he and Horatio were near the house, about fifty feet apart - him by the front door, Horatio by the garage where he inspected the parked minivan. Yelina was on the sidewalk, another thirty feet away.

The suspect ran from behind the house and beat a path between him and Yelina. Horatio admitted later that he had hesitated since Yelina stood beyond his line of sight. However, Horatio would shoot his weapon later, into the suspect's waiting vehicle, which ultimately prevented the intended escape. He, on the other hand, did not wait to empty his clip in the fleeing suspect's direction. A shot went through and through then flew on to hit another target before lodging into the spine. On its way, it cut into the vena cava.

They ruled Yelina's death accidental, as an on-the-job hazard. Horatio intervened for him since justice must be exacted, and Hagen received a two weeks suspension and the phone number for a psychologist.

***** 

A week later, Miami returned to a normal semblance of days followed by nights. The hour of Yelina's funeral, a quiet celebration of her life, came and flew by with little to mark it. With it came the reading of her will, her executer performed all her wishes to the period and soon her son was now his, in name only. The only difference between Horatio's life and Ray, Junior's was that Ray had somebody when Horatio had had none. Also orphaned in unique circumstances, he owed it to both of Ray's parents to care for the boy.

As expected, Horatio was a good father figure for his nephew; open and caring, they moved through grief together and slowly pieced a new life for themselves. Ray adjusted to Horatio's new role in his life without a hitch, listening avidly to Horatio's stories of growing up without anybody to lean on.

Horatio knew, on some level, that a few years made all the difference; he watched his nephew-turned-son grieve for both his parents and noticed the marked similarities and the divergences. While there was anger and disbelief over his father's passing, his mother's brought the mature response of quiet ache. He tried his best to fill the hole but found himself lost many times.

That was when Calleigh shone. Some call it feminine intuition, he called it instinctive intuition; she knew exactly what to say and how to say it when things, simply, got to be too much for both Horatio and Ray, Junior. So life continued haphazardly in this form.

  


Tonight, they walked together along a beachfront boulevard. Sea and salt, popcorn and cooked delicacies scented the air, which still shimmered from the heat of the sun. It cast its typical evening hue over the city; one by one, neon lights took over and the moon danced out to start the night.

Calleigh leaned into Horatio's body as he directed their slow stroll through the crowds. Ray, Junior strayed away on Horatio's other side, coming back whenever the desire surfaced. They paused at a cotton candy and ice cream shop and indulged in dessert. Ray, Junior laughed when Horatio habitually drank some of Calleigh's root beer float. The comfort of routine sank into him and he savored it, holding onto to it, remembering it, locking it away. If anything, that was what life taught him so far. Ultimately, that was why Calleigh had joined them on this particular night.

The night before, Ray, Junior, as he sat on the front porch of the house he now shared with Horatio, contemplated the changes in his mind and heart. When Horatio had joined him, as was their daily custom, they spoke at length over it. Even at his age, he knew it struck something deep within his uncle.

Then the whispered cryptic statement, "Life waits for no one," Horatio had disappeared inside. When Ray, Junior eventually ventured within doors, he found his uncle asleep with a picture frame in his hands.

  


Calleigh came home with the Caine men. Ray, Junior found a sort of easy companionship with her. Maybe it was due to her relationship with his uncle or the role she played in his mother's case or even the fact she had no interest in directing and judging him. Whichever it was, he felt himself in the rare position of encouraging the bloom of her instigation into their lives.

He slipped inside when Horatio drifted out onto the porch. Night easily masked his concerted movements giving the adults privacy.

***** 

She awoke when sunlight interrupted her dream. Finding she was alone in bed, she glanced out the window and spotted her lover on the balcony. He was dressed only in the slacks he wore the day before and, even from this distance, she could see the wrinkles. She drew his dress shirt over her body, its length sufficient modesty for her.

On silent feet, she stole the few steps to the open doorway. He leaned against the corner of the banister, where it extended to support the overhang. Shoulder propped against it, he made an impressive sight against a pale sky backdrop. Continuing in her stealth, she ran gentle hands up the dew cooled skin of his back. She felt his jump and slid her hands downward to wrap along his trim waist.

Laying a kiss on a shoulder blade, she enjoyed the smile he exuded from the pores of his body while he took a hand and laid a kiss on it. He turned, balanced the coffee mug on the small ledge, and brought himself down to her level by sitting on the ledge. She walked further into his embraced, greedily taking his warmth and shivered in the contrasting cool air. He tucked her against his body, protective and empowering, giving her a bone melting, good morning kiss.

"Hi. I woke up alone."

"I'm sorry."

She flung a grin in his direction when he gave a gentle tug and hugged her closer.

"I like to watch the sun rise. Tells me that a brand new day has indeed begun."

Calleigh's heart sighed at the romance of his words, but she was not swept away enough to resist a swipe at his coffee. She should have known he would be more than willing to share.

When the sun drifted almost entirely above the eastern horizon, they roused themselves out of their separate reveries. It was time to start the day.

"You have a message on your cell, Calleigh. I couldn't ignore the flashing light in the dark."

She snuggled into a more comfortable position as the air between and around them warmed.

"It's probably John Hagen. I swear that man just cannot take a hint." She sighed in frustration.

"Hey, talk to me. What's up?"

"He doesn't take no very subtly. I can't get him to leave me alone, but I can't bring myself to let him off gently."

Horatio nuzzled her neck, grateful she had chosen him. "Sweetheart, I think that's your only weakness."

"No, I know what my weaknesses are." She flashed another grin. "Horatio?"

Immediately, he knew he should be concerned about her next words. However, he was a fool in love, so he ignored the tugs of warning.

"Yeah?"

"Think I can persuade you to talk to him?"

His eyes narrowed as he considered the request. Something about the wording intrigued him. "Why?"

"Because he's afraid of you. And like you said, 'subtlety is NOT an option'."

A low volume groan was the only answer she received of his acquiescence. There was no way he could ever refuse her now that she was in his life.

She began to trace abstract patterns on his bare chest while they avoided the coming day just a little longer. A smile trailed over her face when Horatio voiced the question she knew he could not avoid asking.

"So, what are your weaknesses?"

"Hmm, if I tell you, what do I get?"

As though there was any other answer to that question: "Me, for as long as you want me."

She tilted her head so her hair flowed in tickling rivets down his back. Edging near his ear, she whispered, "I told you once."

He was distracted by his own weakness - the texture of a woman's hair curving over his skin. It heated his blood, sent his heart racing.

And his thoughts froze on one insignificant conversation. She had told him once, "You're a good shot." Then he had avoided thinking about the possible implications of that statement; now his thoughts scattered on those very implications.

Midway to his intended arrival of the bed, Calleigh spoke a half-hearted rejection. "Horatio, no. We need to get ready for work."

He laid her carefully on his bed and followed the heady call of her body. "Shh, don't think about it yet." Uncountable, full, drugging kisses later, he shoved his body off hers. Holding eye contact, he muttered, "We should go to Mars, Calleigh."

Granted, he confused her with the unusual statement. Preferring not to answer quickly, Horatio moved to spoon his lady's body, once again trying to keep the coming of day at bay.

"Yeah, let's just say Ray, Junior was right. Life's too short to waste in petty indifference. And since the orbit of Mars is longer, a year on Mars is longer than one on Earth. If we go to Mars, we'll be just that closer to eternity and I can keep you in my arms just that much longer. What do you think?"

Charmed as she was, she persuaded an unresisting Horatio Caine into avoiding the day altogether.

  


FIN

***** ***** *****  
© RK 09.Jul.2003


End file.
